


i want a couple things i don't know how to ask for

by hotmesslewis



Category: Historical RPF, Lewis and Clark
Genre: M/M, Meriwether Lewis: Cock Tease
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-06
Updated: 2017-10-06
Packaged: 2019-01-09 19:53:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12283272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotmesslewis/pseuds/hotmesslewis
Summary: Meriwether Lewis is a tease.





	i want a couple things i don't know how to ask for

**Author's Note:**

> Aw, you guys remember that time I wrote Lewis giving a lapdance to Clark? Well, you're about to. (Also this whole titling-fic-by-song-lyrics is getting ridiculous, I know.)

Even bold, brash Billy Clark, friend more than commander to the men of the Corps of Discovery, needed to be alone sometimes.  He retreated from the glare of the river and the heat of the sun on the keelboat and into the cool darkness of the small storage cabin at the back of the boat, lighting a candle, sitting on a crate, pulling out a draft of a map he was working on.  Undoubtedly it was irresponsible of him, but Clark really needed a soft moment for himself, so he sat in the dimness, making needless refinements to a nearly perfect map of the upper Missouri propped on his crossed knees.

The door suddenly banging open, a dark silhouette in the sunlight.  Clark squinted into the glaring sun with a frown, trying to make out the form: Meriwether Lewis, he realized, as the door swung shut behind the brown-haired man.  Clark’s reaction was confused, at once glad to see his friend, his co-captain, newly his lover, and resentful of having his solitude interrupted.

But Lewis seemed distracted and spared Clark barely a glance, looking slightly annoyed as he dove into a trunk on the other side of the cramped cabin, tossing a sole word out as explanation for his presence: “Shot.”  Refilling his powder horn, hands scrambling for bullets.  Even with his evident emotional distance, Clark still found himself longing to touch him, and Clark wonder, was this normal, this desire to always be near him, to touch him, was this what love was really supposed to feel like? 

And then, a moment of doubt.  Lewis claimed to love him, admitting the words in the dark of night like he was confessing a sin, screaming or whispering them in his heat, but did he mean it truly?  Clark thought, he longed to believe, yes, but the way Lewis acted sometimes made him question Lewis’s sincerity.

Without realizing it, his hazel eyes, dark in the candlelight, had wandered to the small, ramshackle bed against the back wall of the keelboat’s cabin.  He didn’t attempt to curb his desire as he stared at the bed and wondered.  He and Lewis had not yet been together in a bed; how would Lewis act, should they ever?  Would he clutch at the bedposts, would his clawing hands rip at the sheets?  How would his body feel surrounded in the softness and warmth of a feather mattress?  Clark suddenly realized then man across the tiny room had gone still and quiet.  He looked at Lewis.  Lewis’s eyes were also fixed on the bed, until he felt Clark’s gaze on him and their eyes met for a long moment.

Lewis tossed his powder horn, shot pouch, and rifle onto the bed and approached Clark with a determination that bordered on aggression.  He yanked the map and quill pen from Clark’s hand and tossed them to the side, then one hand was around Clark’s wrist and the other was pushing Clark’s shoulder back into the wall, then Clark’s wrist was against the wall as well and Lewis’s other hand was on the side of Clark’s face as he enveloped his mouth in an agitated kiss.  Lewis tasted warm and heady, like whiskey.

Lewis pulled back, looking at Clark with dark eyes under heavy brows, keeping Clark’s wrist pinned against the wall.  His other hand wrapped under Clark’s knee, uncrossing them, and Lewis threw his own legs over Clark, straddling him.

“You’ve been drinking,” Clark murmured as Lewis curved over him.

“A little bit,” Lewis admitted with a smirk, but Clark’s eyes were on Lewis’s hips, his fantastic, trim hips as Lewis moved them over him, rubbing, rolling, grinding, doing incredible things that Clark didn’t even have words to describe.  Clark stiffened noticeably and quickly, and he knew that Lewis felt him from the way Lewis rode hard down on him before lifting again, Lewis moaning slightly, Lewis’s tongue tracing over his teeth, Lewis’s free hand unconsciously going to the back of his burning neck.

One of Clark’s hands on Lewis’s hips, because he would make him stop this incredible thing, damn it, and damn the fact that any of the men could walk in on them at any moment (he was fighting to free his other hand from Lewis’s solid grip), he would push Lewis down onto that bed and he _would_ take him.

But Lewis was smiling, swinging off Clark, gathering his things, and he was out of the little cabin, leaving the stunned Clark behind.

Lewis at the edge of the boat, handing his rifle to one of the men to hold, inquiring about the depth of the river when Clark appeared at the door of the cabin, without his coat and with all of his hardness.  Lewis stepped off the boat, reaching back up as the man handed him his gun, and Clark leapt into the river after him.

“Captain Lewis, where are you going?” he demanded; he could not hide his desperation.

Lewis looked at him dully before whistling for his dog.  “Exploring, of course.  You know how I love to walk the banks, Billy.”

“Yes, but, I mean.”  How to phrase this with delicacy; the men on the keelboat may hear, they were undoubtedly listening.  “What you … What you just did, surely you’d like me to accompany you?”

Lewis wouldn’t look him in the eye, damn him, his eyes on the riverbank.  He shrugged.  “Not particularly; I believe you’re needed on the boat, Captain Clark.”

Overwhelming frustration.  Surely Lewis was not serious, but Clark was quickly growing annoyed.  “What was that supposed to be, then?” he hissed.

Lewis frowned thoughtfully, his eyes on his rifle as he ran a finger around the muzzle.  “I don’t know, really.  You just looked so,” a word in his eyes that he wouldn’t say aloud: _fuckable_ , “good right then that I had to do something.”  And he turned away and walked out of the river, his large black dog following him, the dog looking back to wag his tail at Clark.

Hardly thinking, Clark called out after him.  “Tonight, Meriwether, damn you!  Tonight you will be mine!”

Meriwether Lewis smiled back at him, his face glowing in the sun.


End file.
